


Birthright

by Brenda



Category: Kings (TV 2009)
Genre: Biblical References, Biblical Reinterpretation, Everything is Complicated, Jack's Working On Himself, M/M, POV Jack, Post-Series, The Long Hard Road To Redemption
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-17
Updated: 2016-12-17
Packaged: 2018-09-09 03:15:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,167
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8873599
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Brenda/pseuds/Brenda
Summary: "You know, just by sitting with me, you're risking treason again."
"Is it truly treason when you're the king God wants on the throne?"  Or: Jack escapes Shiloh with Andrew's help, and finds his way to David, in more ways than one.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [inksmith](https://archiveofourown.org/users/inksmith/gifts).



> Happy Yuletide, Inksmith!!!!!

Of all of the ways Jack thought Silas would kill him, sending Andrew Cross in to do the deed was the very last thing he'd expected. He'd braced himself for a public spectacle; Silas hanging him in Unity Plaza for treason, declaring to all and sundry that rebellion would not be tolerated. Jack had been prepared for the pomp and circumstance of it all, the grandiose gesture of a mad, defiant king.

But, Jack had never once thought Silas would send in an assassin in private, without witness or the audience the old man craved so much. 

His cousin was alone, standing in the living area of the suite Jack and Lucinda had been calling home for the last six months, with his hands crossed in front of him, and that curious half-smile on his too-pale face. Jack finished drying his hair with his towel in silence, taking a few precious seconds to glance around the room. Lucinda didn't seem to be anywhere – she hadn't been in the bedroom when he'd stepped out of the shower and gotten dressed, and she wasn't sitting in her usual chair next to the large bay windows overlooking downtown Shiloh. Jack could only hope she was either somewhere she wouldn't be forced to witness his death, or she'd died a mercifully quick one herself.

She'd suffered enough for Jack's sins and those of the Benjamin family.

"So," he said, after the silence stretched into an ocean, "let's get this over with, shall we."

If this was to be his end, he'd face it like a warrior. Like a man.

Andrew didn't move towards him or brandish any sort of weapon. "There's a car waiting for you at the south entrance of the tunnel that leads to Unity Hall. The driver's been instructed to get you out of Shiloh. From there, I trust you can make it to the border to Gath on your own."

"Gath? Why wait to murder me in Gath?" Jack asked, then shook his head, laughing ruefully to himself as the answer came to him. "Of course. Silas needs an excuse to go to war again, is that it?"

It seemed William would finally get his dearest wish after all. Shame his sister and Rose and David had fought so hard against Jack's ascension only to have Silas himself be the one to break the promise he'd made for peace. Perhaps William had offered more gold for the royal treasury – war was, after all, a great economic engine.

Andrew's brows came together slightly. "This isn't a murder, cousin. It's a rescue."

" _Rescue_?" What the hell? What possible reason would Andrew have for _rescuing_ him? "You want to rescue _me_ and send me to Gath? Why?"

"Because that's where David Shepherd is," Andrew said, as if the answer should have been obvious.

David? Why on earth would David be in Gath, and why would Andrew want to send Jack to him?

"David's not here at the palace?" Jack asked instead. "He doesn't stand at my father's side in my place?"

After everything David had risked to bring Silas back to Shiloh, Jack had been sure that Silas would have rewarded him with Michelle's hand in marriage, and Pride of Place. Made David his heir in truth for his loyalty. The irony wasn't lost on Jack – after everything he'd done to try to undermine or hurt David, and keep him from gaining favor in either Silas' eyes or the public's, it was only right that David would be instrumental in stealing the crown from under Jack's nose. He just hadn't thought David had that sort of duplicity in him. 

Which only went to prove his uncle's point – everyone had a price. And if Silas had dangled Michelle as a prize, that would be enough incentive for even someone of David's strong moral fiber. Love made fools of everyone. 

The thought of it shouldn't ache as much as it did. He and David – whatever they'd once been to each other, the last six months had burned away all of those feelings, and left not even a smoldering ruin in their wake.

Andrew tilted his head, studying Jack like a bird studying a rather interesting worm. "You have many questions, I can see that. But we don't have time for the answering of them."

He and Andrew had never been close, not even before Andrew's troubles or his exile. There had always been something about him, even as a child, that unsettled even the most stoic and stalwart of people. It was in the way he moved, a faint sound of nails on a chalkboard underscoring every word he spoke. A wrongness that clung to his shadow like a bespoke suit, made the hairs on the back of everyone's necks stick up when he walked past, even if they couldn't say why. 

And yet, Jack couldn't help but think Andrew was telling the truth. Or as close to it as he ever got.

Still, Jack had grown up under Rose's watchful tutelage, and knew better than to take anything at face value. "If this is some sort of elaborate trap you and my father have plotted to discredit me and make my execution more palatable to the public, you didn't have to go through the trouble," he said, with a shrug. "I'm happy to admit my part in the coup if it'll mean an honorable death."

Anything was better than the slow suffocation he'd been forced to suffer, watching the light leave Lucinda's eyes every day they were trapped within these gilded prison walls.

"And if you're doing this on _your_ father's behalf," he continued, "you can tell him I have no interest in whatever scheme he has brewing now. I won't be his puppet again." 

He was finished marching to the beat of another man's drum, placing himself at the mercy of another man's whims. God may not have a need for him, his country may not want him, and his esteemed parents may not give a good goddamn about him beyond his royal seed, but he could finally call himself his own man for the first time in his life. He would not give that up, not ever again. 

"My father?" For the briefest of moments, Andrew's face crumpled, twisting into something unrecognizable. But he smoothed is features back into impassiveness so quickly that Jack thought he must have imagined it. "My father told me to watch and learn. And so I did. I stood in the shadows and I watched and took my measure of what it means to be a king."

"Which has, precisely, _what_ to do with me?" 

"You are not the king Gilboa needs," Andrew stated, matter-of-fact. "But you're the only one who can help the one it _does_."

 _The one it does..._ Suddenly, all of the pieces fell into place. Jack was ashamed of himself for taking so long to figure it out. 

"David Shepherd," he said, with an ironic huff of laughter. He should have known. Gilboa's golden boy, the hero anointed by God himself. 

"You swore an oath to him, did you not."

"How do you know...never mind," Jack said, shaking his head, as another piece fell into place. "I can see now that God speaks through you."

God spoke to _Andrew_ – a scheming, manipulative, predator of the lowest order – and yet, for Jack himself, there was still only silence. He'd known for years that he was cursed, but to be so blatantly cast aside was a stab in the gut.

"You have a choice to make, cousin. And quickly."

"What about Lucinda?" No matter how much Jack wanted to be rid of this opulent cell, and to escape from the palace, he wouldn't leave his erstwhile fiancé here to suffer, not when he wouldn't be here to protect her. His mother had already proven herself ruthless enough to kill off one woman in Jack's life – he wouldn't let Lucinda suffer Katrina's fate.

"I'll make sure she's safe," Andrew promised, and Jack wasn't sure why, but he believed those words as well. "Just do your part and get to Gath and David."

Gath. David. And David, while God's favored, was still only one man in a country of millions. This was a fool's errand, a suicide mission, and like as not, Andrew's twisted way of ensuring Jack would die, and he alone left standing in Silas' good graces.

So be it. Jack would rather die on his feet than live on his knees.

He dropped the towel and hurriedly pulled on a sweater and the first pair of shoes he could find. Then he took a step towards the door, but glanced Andrew's way again. "How will they not suspect you of aiding me?"

"No one ever sees me," Andrew said, no trace of self-pity in his voice. "Not unless I will it. Now go."

"Thank you," he said, as sincerely as he could manage, and slipped into the hallway on silent feet. It was empty, devoid of the usual guards on patrol, and Jack wondered where they were or what Andrew had promised them or done to them in order to get them to abandon their posts. Hopefully they were all still alive – Jack would rather not have more innocent blood on his conscience.

He made his way to the secret exit, and ran down the tunnel that led to Unity Hall, brain working a mile a minute. He'd need supplies – a change of clothes, for a start, something inconspicuous, and some sturdy boots, especially if he'd be expected to make his way to the border on foot. Money, too, if he could manage to pick someone's pocket without detection. A skill he'd learned at Silas' knee, a party trick to impress and amuse dignitaries at state dinners, but it could prove to be a useful tool now. Theft might be, in his mother's words, a commoner's crime, but it would seem he'd need to start thinking like one. It was long past time to shed the royal bearing and the arrogance that came with it, to rid himself of the Benjamin name and the hubris that shrouded it.

The car was waiting at the south entrance just as Andrew promised – a grey sedan, nondescript in both make and year. Jack hurried to it as the driver door opened, and he got his second shock in the last hour when Stu climbed out from behind the wheel to stand before him.

Jack's knees almost buckled as relief swept through him. "I thought you dead."

Stu offered a fleeting smile. "Mr. Cross made other arrangements. Quickly," he urged, and waved him towards the car. "You can change while I drive you out of the city."

"Change?" 

Stu motioned to the back seat, where a sturdy-looking backpack, with a bedroll secured under it, was sitting. "I took the liberty of grabbing a few things from your old apartments. Clothes, whatever cash I could find, the ID you used when you used to sneak off to the...uh, underground clubs. It won't pass muster with the border patrol, but you should be able to move around Gilboa freely without it raising any flags."

"Stuart, I could kiss you right now," Jack said, and did so, yanking the other man to him for a hard, heartfelt meeting of lips. "Thank you."

"No need, sir." Stu gestured at the car again, his face flushed. "Shall we?"

Jack made quick work of getting into his new gear while Stu navigated the back streets out of the capital. Stu had packed two changes of clothing – underwear and socks, jeans, plain tees and henleys – as well as his old marching boots, and an oversized fleece coat that had to have been Stu's own. Jack thought about refusing it, but the nights were brutal in the country, and he'd need the protection from the elements. 

There was also a wallet filled with cash, most of it Gilboan laurel, but he saw a few hundred in Gath dollars. Stu had also packed Jack's service revolver and a box of ammo, as well as his K-bar and some flint and matches. It was more than enough to go on. 

After an hour or so, the towering glint of steel and glass buildings gave way to trees and grassy hillside. Stu pulled over in the empty lot of a deserted gas station, and cut off the engine. The silence loomed unnaturally loud for a minute.

"I wish I could take you to the border, but I have to be –"

"You don't have to explain," Jack said, with a quick shake of his head. "Just tell me you'll be careful."

"Of course." Stu smiled at him, the quick, small one that used to make Jack's blood sing. Now, it simply filled him with regret. Like Lucinda, Stu had deserved far better than the scraps from Jack's plate. Jack could only hope now that Stu was happy. That he'd found someone who could love him unconditionally. 

He grabbed the backpack and looked out over the quiet landscape. The leaves on the trees were a riotous mixture of reds and yellows and oranges, and the Gideon Mountains in the distance were capped white. Once he stepped out of the car, he would be a Benjamin no longer. Instead, he'd be a fugitive, nameless, a ronin. The thought didn't bother him nearly as much as it once would have.

He glanced over at Stu, his strong profile and kind eyes. "Why are you doing this?"

"Because I swore an oath to you, sir," Stu replied, then leaned over, and pressed a kiss to Jack's cheek, the touch light, a whisper. "Go with God."

Jack smiled, but had no answer. How could he disappoint this man, who had gone above and beyond his duty, with the unhappy revelation that God had no place for Jack in His plans. Better to call upon his training, to smile and say nothing.

He got out of the car, and watched as Stu pulled out of the lot and headed back to Shiloh, the cityscape shimmering in the distance. It seemed so impossibly far away, like a mirage brought forth from a fevered imagination. The analogy seemed apt; perhaps that was all his former life as a prince had been. A mirage conjured by Rose and Silas Benjamin, and willed into being by deceit and guile and a single-minded devotion to power.

Jack took a deep, cleansing breath of pure country air, and exhaled. Savored the cool breeze on his face and the solid crunch of earth beneath his boots. He'd tried so hard to be the perfect son, had buried everything he was and pushed away everyone who truly loved him, all to gain the favor of a man who had never deserved either the title of king or father. 

No wonder God had abandoned him, he thought; he'd abandoned himself first, abandoned his humanity and conscience for a crown that should have been Michelle's from the very start. He owed his sister so much more than an apology, more penitence than a hundred lifetimes could hold. And God or the Fates willing, they'd be reunited under a happier sun, and he could start to undo some of the damage he'd inflicted over the years.

But, he could start on his road to contrition by finding the man she loved, and offering his services in aid to whatever plan David had for wresting the throne from Silas' iron grip. If God wanted Jack watching David Shepherd's back, then that was where Jack would be.

He shifted the backpack more evenly across his shoulders and set off north, leaving the faded luster of Shiloh behind him.

***

It took Jack three weeks to reach Gath. Three weeks of steady marching, loading up on supplies whenever he passed through a town, sleeping under the stars every night, the ground hard and cold beneath him. It was a little like being back at the front during the war, living rough, every sense razor-sharp, assessing the landscape for pitfalls, and utilizing every trick at his disposal to keep himself from freezing or starving to death. He started growing a beard, his hair now longer and unkempt, and he shed the softness of his captivity, his body becoming lean and powerful. Day by day, all of the trappings of Prince Jack Benjamin fell away, and something stronger forged itself in their place.

He wondered if David had traversed the same path, if he'd had to employ the same means to slip past patrols and under the watchful eyes of the ever-present cameras. If he'd slept on the same cold ground, scrounged for shelter and warmth in the same forests. They'd have their respective journeys to talk about, at least, when they saw each other again. Provided, of course, that David wanted anything to do with Jack.

So much had happened since the day Jack had embraced him as a brother and David had stood by his side as advisor – since the day William's true agenda had become clear, and David had escaped to find Silas. Would they even be able to find common ground now, among the rubble and ruin that was their lives? They were different men now, no longer Prince and loyal subject, no longer Major and Captain, bound together in service. For the first time, they would meet as equals. Or, as equal as they would ever be, considering God's Grace flowed through David's veins, and Jack's blood held only the poison infected in him by his parents. 

It was hard to believe, in some ways, that he and David had only known each other a year. David had been his savior, then adversary, his rival, then savior again, and finally, a man Jack had hoped would help him rule Gilboa wisely and well. Ironic that now he was tasked with helping David ascend to the throne. Ironic and somehow fitting. He just hoped David would be as amenable to starting over again.

***

Crossing the border was laughably easy. Jack waited until the dead of night, when the cold was its bitter fiercest and the wind howled enough to muffle the sound of his boots trampling the dead leaves scattered across the frosty ground. The checkpoint guards never even glanced up from their firepit as Jack slid by them, hidden in shadow. He still forced himself to walk, not run, another four miles before he deemed it safe enough to find somewhere out of the wind to try to catch some sleep.

He spent the next week making his careful way from town to town along the south region. Every night, he nursed a lone drink in seedy bar after seedy bar, keeping his ears open for any word of someone trying to raise an army to march into Gilboa, or for any talk of a plot to overthrow Silas, or of David in general. Jack learned that no one was too thrilled with Premier Shaw for loaning Silas and David the tanks they used to invade Shiloh, and that Jack himself was regarded as somewhat of a tragic figure in the media and online, with chat rooms dedicated to all kinds of conspiracy theories as to his whereabouts. The most popular ones he read being bandied about either had him dead, executed by Silas himself and buried on palace grounds, or that he had joined his sister in exile after Lucinda Wolfson ended their engagement. Jack couldn't say he was surprised that Michelle was no longer at court, but at least she was safely away from their parents' machinations for the time being. 

On his eighth night in Gath, it finally started snowing in earnest. Soft at first, fat flakes sprinkling the earth like fairy dust, turning the area into a wonderland of white; but the clouds overhead were black and ominous, threatening a blizzard, and soon. Which meant Jack would have to use some of his carefully hoarded funds to find shelter for the night. 

After asking around, he was directed to a local tavern with rooms to let, and pushed his way into the crowded bar, shivering, chilled to the bone, and happy to be out of the wind. He yanked off his wool cap, his shaggy dark mop of hair falling in his face, and when he swiped it off his forehead with an impatient gesture, his gaze collided with none other than David Shepherd.

Jack jerked to a halt where he stood, stunned into immobility. David was here. Sitting at the other end of the bar, sipping slowly from a full mug of beer cradled in his hands. 

The room and everyone inside it faded to the background, all the colors muted into obscurity. Jack felt suspended, crouched in that still point between one breath and the next, the rhythmic thudding of his own heartbeat drowning out all other sound. Every feeling he'd ever had, long thought dead and buried, sprang into life, unfurled like flowers seeking the first spring sun.

His gaze roamed hungrily over every part of David he could see, the sight of him a cool drink of water after too long wandering in the desert. Like Jack, David had grown a beard, obscuring that stubborn jawline and those full lips, and his hair was longer, curling at the collar of his jacket. It was also considerably lighter, now a pale shade of gold, most likely caused by spending so much time outdoors. Unlike Jack, David seemed to have bulked up, his shoulders broader, his thighs straining against the worn denim of his jeans. 

Then David looked up, as if sensing he was being watched, and Jack was faced with the forgotten brilliance of David's eyes. The blue of them – the crystal clear color of Elysium Bay in the summer – slammed into him with the force of a jet engine. 

Eyes, radiating goodness and conviction, that saw right to the core of Jack's soul. Eyes that had been Jack's downfall, a year and a lifetime ago.

David seemed to study him just as intently, raking over him from head to toe, the look intense, stripping away all of Jack's defenses until they were scattered like broken shards at his feet. He felt raw, exposed, all of his sins and shortcomings laid bare. What did David see when he saw Jack now? Who were they to each other, without the shield of lies and artifice that used to color their every interaction? 

Someone bumped into Jack from behind, and the heavy, intimate spell between them broke with it. Light and sound swept back into the room, and Jack found his footing. He took one step, then another, stopping only when he reached David's side.

David picked his mug back up and idly saluted Jack with it, the sardonic twist to his lips ill-fitting, not at all suited to that open face. "Have you come here to finish your father's job, then? Did he promise to spare your life if you brought him my head on a stick?"

Jack scoffed and took the stool next to David, wedging his backpack in the small space between them. "My father is no more happy with me than he is you, I imagine," he said, then gestured at the bartender for two shots of whiskey. It would probably be rotgut, but at least it would help warm him up.

David nodded, conceding the point, and drained the rest of his beer. "So how did you find me? Why are you here?"

A question Jack had been asking himself every night for the last month: what was his purpose, why was he still alive? Why would God decide to spare him time and again if He had no use for him? He didn't have any answers, but maybe now that he was here with David, he could start to make himself useful.

He nodded his thanks to the bartender when she set both glasses down, and slid one over to David. "I found you by accident, or maybe divine provenance, you tell me," he said, lifting his shot up to his lips and draining it in one swallow. The taste was just as wretched as he'd feared, but the burn in his belly was a welcome one. "As to _why_ , apparently God wants me at your side for some reason, and not even I'm arrogant enough to go against His wishes a second time. I've enough deaths on my conscience from the first time I tried."

David's forehead furrowed as he scratched at his beard, long fingers running through the short bristles. "Jack, your uncle used you. I was there; I know you wanted to do the right thing and keep the peace."

Jack's throat closed at the sincerity, pouring out from David in waves. It took him a second to find his voice, and when he spoke, the words came out rough and uneven. "Perhaps, but I let him do it." He forced himself to look David dead on, to face whatever recrimination and judgement he'd find as a result. He deserved all of it. "Don't paint me as some gilded victim. I walked into my own demise with eyes open. I plotted treason in truth, and good men died as a result. That's on my head, not my uncle's."

"And yet, here you are," David said, casting Jack a sideways look. He toyed with his shot glass, smearing alcohol across the cheap wood. "You know, just by sitting with me, you're risking treason again."

"Is it truly treason when _you're_ the king God wants on the throne?" 

For a long time, David just stared at him. Those cool blue eyes, demanding honesty and respect and promising both in kind, bored into his. Deep into Jack's twisted, corrupt soul. Jack had no idea what David was searching for, or why he would bother. The only good thing Jack had done in his entire life was to defend David in court and spare his life from execution. A life spared for a life saved. 

And yet, it was still not enough. Jack was beginning to think there was no deed large enough to settle the debt he owed the man beside him.

Finally, those eyes softened, and David twisted in his seat to pull Jack into a rough hug. He smelled like grass and earth, like the promise of springtime and renewal, and his arms promised shelter and comfort. Jack clutched at his coat, clung to David and the promise of redemption in his embrace.

For the first time in almost a year, since the night he'd been captured and held prisoner in Gath, Jack could exhale.

"It's good to have you back with me, brother," David murmured, his breath hot on Jack's neck. "I've missed you."

In the face of such naked honesty, Jack could only offer the same in kind. "I've missed you, too, brother," he murmured back, blinking back the hot sheen of tears pooling in his eyes.

 _Brother_. Never had a single word meant so much. 

***

They moved to a corner booth after ordering another round of whatever it was passing for whiskey in this establishment – what they had to discuss needed as few ears as possible to hear them. David had already rented a room for the night, and graciously offered to share it with Jack, but Jack wasn't ready to head upstairs just yet. They still had a lot of ground to cover, and they may as well do it as close to the alcohol as possible.

Once they were settled, Jack pinned David with a hard stare. "So, first things first. Do you have any idea how you're going to win the throne? Silas may be both mad and corrupt, but he is, as we both know, not someone to underestimate. And, thanks to you, he's now returned to the people a hero."

Jack said it without venom, but David's spine still snapped to attention, his lips thinning out. "Hero he may be at the moment, but we both know how quickly a hero's fortune can change."

"Indeed we do," Jack replied, and drained his glass in two short swallows with barely a grimace to show for it. 

He himself had once been a hero, with a proud and distinguished military career and the respect and command of loyal men. And he'd allowed his own ambition and pride and impatience, his own loathing of his father and what Silas had become, to put it all to ruin. All those years of sacrifice, of stamping down any scrap of humanity and compassion and denying himself any sort of happiness, for nothing.

"I had thought my sister would be with you," he said, breaking the almost tangible silence between them.

David blinked in confusion. "You have not heard the news, then."

"I heard she was banished from court, but I thought she might have found her way to your side." In fact, Jack had counted on it.

"She _was_ banished," David replied. "But it was exile for treason."

"Treason?" Jack thought nothing could surprise him these days, but Silas accusing his favorite child of treason, especially after the way Michelle had stood up to William and himself, made no sense. "That was my crime, not hers."

David laughed, the sound filled with disdain. "No, her crime was far more unforgivable than any assassination attempt."

"Ah, it was her punishment for loving you, then," Jack replied, with a grimace. "Silas was ever one for his version of poetic justice." 

A princess stripped of her rightful place, a daughter stripped of her family, left to stand on her own two feet for the first time in her life. But Silas, as he always did, underestimated his children. Michelle was far stronger than she looked. She'd battled cancer and won; she would endure until Jack and David could bring her home to take her rightful place at David's side. One of them deserved a happy ending with the love of a good man, and God knew, Jack had forfeited his right to a happy ending years ago.

But still, if his heart ached a little, knowing he had no such knight in shining armor willing to battle dragons on his behalf, he was wise enough now not to linger on it.

"I wouldn't worry too much about Michelle," Jack said aloud. "If my sister is nothing else, she's a survivor."

"She is," David agreed. "You both are. I tried to keep tabs on both of you as much as I could, to try to make sure you were both...I don't know, coping? Not suffering unduly?" He offered a sheepish shrug. "Anyway, I didn't want to show too much interest in the Gilboan royal family, just in case anyone looked at me long enough to put two and two together."

"Both of us?" Jack's lips curved up in a light, teasing grin. The idea of David inquiring as to his well-being was quaint, and more than a little flattering. So like the David he used to know. "Were you worried about me?"

"Of course I was," David replied, a surprising – and thoroughly charming – hint of pink appearing across the tops of his cheekbones. "You're my friend."

First brother, now friend. Such simple words to encompass the entirety of what David was to Jack, to encompass all of the tangled threads that made up the tapestry of their relationship.

"Is that what we are?" He recognized the flirtatious lilt in his voice, the pattern of it deeply familiar, the shape of it armor he'd used to wrap around his heart to try to keep it safe. 

But when David just smiled at him again, twin dimples appearing around that generous mouth, Jack's breath caught, stuck above the flutter of his treacherous heart.

"You're right," David told him. "I'm not sure there is a word for what we are."

Jack swallowed, unsure when he'd lost control of the discussion. If he'd ever had it to begin with.

"Well, we'll figure it out," he replied, because he had to say _something_. Then he gestured at David, desperate to change the subject. "So, what _is_ your plan?"

"My plan?"

"To take the throne?" At David's blank expression, Jack pressed on: "How do you plan to gather troops, intelligence, weapons? I assume, since you're here in Gath, that you think they might be willing to help you a second time."

Once again, David laughed. Once again, it held no trace of humor. "No, I'm here because no one in this country wants to kill me. At least," he added, "no more than they do anyone from Gilboa."

"So..." Jack chose each word carefully, "you're _not_ here to recruit an army?"

"Not even...I've just been trying to get by," David told him, and honestly, this was just Jack's luck.

David Shepherd was worse than a babe left in the woods. He'd never been simple, but innocent was a different matter. He still apparently had _that_ in spades, despite everything that had happened to him in the last year.

"What were you going to do?" Jack asked, stealing David's drink without bothering to ask for permission. Right now, he needed it more than David did. "Pray that God would simply provide you with men and tanks and a way to take down Silas without it ending in a bloodbath?"

"I..." David shrugged, those broad shoulders helplessly lifting. "Jack, I'm a mechanic. A farmer. I've been making money the last six months fixing cars or doing odd jobs. I'm not...I'm not a general or a leader or some gifted orator who can sway men to my cause. I don't even know how to _start_ to do what God asks of me."

Jack shook his head and drank. The cheap whiskey tasted just as rancid from David’s glass, but he was getting used to it. "Now I understand why God sent me to you," he said. "You just leave the insurrection to me. I'm good at it," he added, with a small, self-effacing smirk. "Who knows, maybe I'll make it my life's work now that I'm free from my princely obligations – going from country to country, plotting the seeds of sedition and revolution."

"Jack..." David started, his face filled with a sympathy Jack neither wanted nor needed.

"Yes, I know, it's not much of a career, but it's something –"

" _Jack._ " David laid his fingers over Jack's wrist, the touch work-rough and sun-warm. "I'm grateful for both your company and the offer to help, you know that, but don't. _Don't_ treat this like it's a game."

Jack flinched under David's unrelenting, compassionate gaze. Recrimination, he could have dealt with. Judgement for his innumerable sins, he could have ignored. But against this – the sincerity shining from those blue depths – he was helpless, and always had been, despite his best efforts.

He nodded in apology, and pushed the glass back David's way, an offering of peace. "The first thing we need to do is rescue my sister. Your kingdom will need its queen."

David made a face, like he wanted to argue, but seemed to think the better of it. "We don't even know where she is."

" _You_ may not, but I've got a pretty good idea, especially if my mother was involved in the sentencing." 

David licked a stray droplet of whiskey from his top lip, leaving it spit shiny and slick. "Okay, we rescue Michelle. Then what?"

It took Jack a precious few seconds to remember the thread of the conversation. He tore his gaze away from David's mouth with a guilty start, hoping David hadn't noticed. The last thing he wanted was to make things awkward – David was for his sister, not for him. 

He'd had his chance at happiness, and had thrown it away. And stealing from Michelle certainly wouldn't get him back in God's favor.

"Then we plan together, the three of us," he said, focusing on the topic at hand. "Whether you realize it or not, you're good at inspiring people who don't want to be inspired. and I should know. But you are right in that you don't know the viper's nest that is politics. Not like Michelle and I do. And she's bound to have a lot more goodwill in Gilboa than I have, even with these trumped up charges against her. We can find sympathetic ears to our cause. Although, I'll admit, this would have been a lot easier if you hadn't worked so hard to get Silas _back_ on the throne."

"I only did it to prevent your uncle from plunging us back into another century of war with Gath. You were..." David winced, and fell silent, his gaze dropping to the glass. Long, pale lashes hid those expressive eyes, but Jack didn't need to see them to know what emotions lay in their depths.

"I was a puppet," Jack quietly finished. "I don't mind you saying it. It's the truth, even though I couldn't see it at the time."

"I'm sorry," David said, looking back up. His voice was soft. So earnest and heartfelt and impossible to resist, like everything else about him. "I truly am. For what it's worth, I think you would have been a good king."

Jack had no idea why, but hearing the simple sincerity, even coming from someone he once used to resent with every fiber of his being, soothed some of the aching void in his soul. At least this one man believed in him. 

"I think I would have tried my best, but there's too much of my father in me, and far too much of my mother. The scheming and lying and hoarding of power, the corruption of the blood...it would have demanded its due eventually." 

He said it without bitterness or resentment. He could see it now, so clearly, how he'd been doomed from the minute he'd been born. In fact, the only thing that saved him from becoming another Silas was the very mistake of character that had him skulking in men's beds instead of chasing after women. That one shameful secret, the only thing he could truly call his own, had given him enough distance and clarity to see past the lies – perhaps too little too late to save his soul, but it wasn't like he was using it for anything anyways.

"It's better this way," he continued, wishing he had more alcohol to numb the last of the pain in his heart. "You and Michelle can be the ones to lead Gilboa into its golden age of prosperity and peace."

If Jack was very lucky, and God was benevolent enough, he would die saving one or the both of them, would finally be able to have his hero's death and give his life for a cause greater than his father's lust for power and land.

David reached out again and this time, enfolded his entire hand over Jack's own. The touch burned, burrowing under flesh and sinew and bone, lit up Jack's skin like a torch. "You'll be right there with us," David said, with a soft smile that pierced right through the last of Jack's carefully erected defenses. "I would have you nowhere else than at my side."

He didn't deserve a single ounce of David's faith, but he was still selfish enough to soak in the warmth in both the touch and the smile.

"Careful," he replied softly, voice rough with tears he refused to shed. "That almost sounds like a promise."

"Good. Because it _is_." David's thumb stroked across the back of Jack's hand, igniting nerve endings Jack had thought long dead and buried under a rainy fall sky. "We are bound together, you and I. Our covenant is thicker even than the blood that's been spilled between us."

Covenant. A bond Jack hadn't earned and didn't deserve, yet here was David, all fumbling candor and heartfelt integrity, offering it without reservation. 

"Did you want to head upstairs?" David flushed again, his look abashed. "Not that I meant... It's only, there's a shower in the room if you wanted – not that I'm suggesting that you're –"

Jack offered a quicksilver grin, his shoulders relaxing. David's discomfit was familiar ground, put them back on even footing. "If that's your subtle way of saying I don't look much like the former Crown Prince of Gilboa these days, I'd remind you that you don't look much like the King's advisor yourself."

"I suppose not," David replied, offering a wry smile. "The last few months have changed us both."

"I haven't been the same since the night we met," Jack admitted. "I resented you so much for saving me..." 

"I remember." David squeezed his fingers over Jack's, offering comfort. "But I know you were hurting. You've only ever been a friend to me –"

"No." Jack couldn't do this. He couldn't listen to another word, couldn't stand the open, trusting look on David's face, or take more of the tenderness offered so freely in his touch. Jack had so many sins, their number too large to count, but he could start with this. "No, if we're going to do this, it won't be with lies between us."

"Lies?" 

Jack drank in every inch of David's face – those full lips and the arch of his eyebrows and the fine lines around his eyes – just in case it was the last time. "Your brother – Ethan – he was almost executed because of me."

"What?"

"The guilty verdict, the order of execution, those orders came from me. Had my father not intervened, your brother's death would have been on my head, just like all the others who died because of me and my _ambition_." He spat the word out like the curse it was.

David's throat worked, his mouth opening and closing, no sound coming out. Finally, he croaked: "But why?"

"Jealousy," Jack replied, starkly honest. "You had Silas' love and respect, two things I haven't had since it became clear I had no interest in providing my parents with a wife and children to carry on the poisoned family line." The weight lifting from his shoulders was indescribable; he felt euphoric. Incandescent with relief. The thorny knots that had been lodged inside him, fused to every knob of his spine for years without end, loosened. He straightened, for the first time, to his true height. "I don't deserve your forgiveness, but –"

"You and Michelle have a brother," David blurted out, looking startled by his own words. "A blood one. One no one knows about, save Silas and Thomasina."

It sounded like David was speaking through a wind tunnel, every word whipping in the space between them, muffled from the noise rushing in Jack's ears. " _What?_ "

"If we're exchanging bitter truths and secret shames, then let us have it all out and be done with it." He tightened his hold on Jack's hand, his thumb once again rubbing circles across Jack's skin. Almost as if he was seeking the reassurance for himself. "Silas has another child. A boy named Seth. One he's kept secret from everyone."

"Serenity," Jack breathed, with an ugly laugh. "Fuck, I should have...of course."

David nodded, sympathy softening his expression. "You say you were jealous, and that jealousy drove you to do terrible things. That's your cross, and one you must bear, but Jack...you had reason. Your father kept the love that should have been yours and bestowed it on another. And that's _his_ cross."

Jack jerked away and clambered to his feet, his breath so harsh and loud it was the only thing he could hear. "I need some air."

He stumbled outside, past the parking lot and into the wooded area beyond, sinking to his knees, tears scalding hot on his face, even as the snow continued to fall around him. 

_We give up what we want when we want power._ Only, Silas hadn't done that at all. He'd kept the throne and his perfect royal family, untouchable and glittering, brighter than the stars and held to even higher standards; and also kept another family for his own, out of sight and private, somewhere he could go to be happy, to refresh his heart and refuel his soul. And Silas would have had Jack live a lie to the world _and_ behind closed doors, denying him even that one simple respite. All because he wanted an heir Jack had no interest in providing, one that Michelle's ravaged body could not carry.

Stupid to feel so betrayed after all this time. All these years of slights and broken promises and threats and conditions, and this was the thing that broke him.

"You're not broken." 

Jack didn't even question why David had followed him out here, or how he'd known Jack's thoughts. God, probably, or maybe it was simply that obvious. "My father and God seem to think otherwise."

"What do they know." David sat down on the hard, cold ground, and held out his arm. Jack leaned in, allowed David to enfold him in his embrace, grateful for the warmth. His hat and gloves and coat were all still inside the tavern. 

Jack let out a snort. "God's favored son, disparaging His judgement. I didn't think you had it in you to be so openly rebellious."

"I've told you before, I'm no saint. This life, this path...it's not of my choosing. If I had my way, I'd be back on my parent's farm and no one would remember my name." David pressed a fleeting kiss to Jack's hair. "I'm telling you this because, if you're broken, then so am I. And maybe that's what God wants. Two broken men who _want_ to remake themselves into something greater than the sum of their parts."

"David, I –" Jack turned his head. They were so close, he could see the hint of grey surrounding those summer eyes. Storm clouds hinting at the roiling emotions simmering under the calm.

"Hush," David said, and kissed him. 

Jack's lips parted automatically, his head tilting to grant them both a better angle. David tasted sharp, like the whiskey they'd been drinking, but there was a sweetness there, in the way their mouths fit together. In the way David's breath became Jack's own.

Jack moaned, a soft sound swallowed by David's mouth, and reached up, clumsily patting David's hair, fingers slipping through coarse curls. He was on fire, the inferno burning through him, leaving nothing behind except a greedy hunger for more. David just pulled him in closer, this kiss turning fiery, passionate. A declaration. 

They parted after minutes, hours, decades, and stared at one another, all pretense and artifice stripped away.

Jack licked his lips; he could still taste David on his tongue. "I'm not my sister."

"I know," David answered, brushing stray hairs from Jack's forehead.

"Then why?"

"You know why," David said, but Jack didn't. He had no idea why David was doing any of this, but then David closed the distance between them again, and the question fell away, lost in the feel of David's lips stealing all words and thought.

David kissed like he argued – with persuasive conviction, and so much passion Jack felt it would swallow him whole. The beard rubbing against his own was rough, but the hands cupping his jaw were gentle, as was the way David's tongue slid, hot and wet, against his lips, parting the seam of his mouth with a soft, insistent sweep. Jack let out a soft noise, grabbed those strong shoulders, and molded himself as close to David and all of that heat as he could. 

This time when they parted, they were both breathing heavy. Jack's blood flowed sluggishly through his body; his limbs felt just as lethargic. He licked his lips, the feel of his tongue also heavy and thick, like he'd had too much to drink. 

"My mother –" He paused, corrected himself, "– Rose – she called this a mistake of character."

David's fingers were infinitely gentle as he cupped Jack's nape. "What do you call it?"

"When I was with Joseph –" He stumbled on the name, the grief ever present, the regret one he knew he'd always carry, and forced himself to press on, "– well, I used to call it love. With you...it's...I don't know what this is. I never have."

Profane or divine, Jack couldn't tell. Only that he would follow David forever, would bask in the sunlight of that smile and survive a thousand winters in the heat of David's gaze.

"I may have God's favor, but it's _you_ I favor and always have," David breathed, brushing another light kiss to Jack's lips. "And your command I follow."

Jack clutched at David's shirt, and shook his head, frantic. He had to make David _see_. "You can't offer me that kind of power." He didn't deserve it.

"I can and I do," David said, softly. "A choice I make of my own free will."

"David, please –"

David pressed their mouths together again, once, twice. Chaste and light, but still as potent as a punch. "It's my choice." There was no denying the conviction in his voice.

Jack rested his head back on David's shoulder. "I buried this part of myself so deep I forgot it was there."

"Then it's time for you to come into the light." David held him closer. "I want you at my side, where you were meant to be. Jack...we were meant to do this _together_ , and you know it."

"What is it you want from me?" Everyone in his life wanted something; everyone he'd ever met had an ulterior motive. Not even David could be all that different, no matter how sweet his words or his kisses. "If it's an assassin you seek to do your dirty work while you reap glory and adulation, seek elsewhere." 

He would never hide in the shadows again, not for David, not for Gilboa, not for God himself. He would not be another Abner, with war in his heart, blinding him to everything else.

"I don't need an assassin or a warrior," David assured him, tilting Jack's chin up to press another kiss to his lips. "I just need you. Jonathan Benjamin. Nothing more and nothing less."

David made it sound so simple, when Jack knew it was anything but. "My uncle once told me people don't really change."

"Do you believe that?" David asked, his breath puffing white, cooling Jack's temple.

"I don't know. You're the hero," Jack said, for the first time without bitterness coloring his every thought. "The slayer of tanks, the savior of the treaty, the crusader who brought back our charter and our nation's hope with it. Your deeds will be sung into eternity."

"As will yours." David shifted so he could pull Jack deeper into the circle of his arms. "Jack – what you've done all these years – you're one of the strongest people I've ever met."

"I lost myself so many times," Jack admitted in a rough whisper. Strong was hardly a word he'd choose, but David looked so sincere. Like he meant every word.

"And found yourself each time. That's a victory more than worthy of God's praise."

God's praise. If only. "You can call it what you like, but God does not speak to me. He never has."

"Does he not?" David quietly asked, just before their lips met again. Jack's soul sang in recognition as kiss bled into kiss, a symphony that played for David alone. _Yes, you, this._

_Us._

He sighed when David lifted his head. Already, he craved the sweetness of David's mouth against his, silencing his doubts and demons alike. "I've done unforgivable things," he said, a last ditch effort to try to get David to listen to reason.

But David just smiled, and didn't move. "There is no sin too great for His mercy, as long as you truly repent."

Repentance. Redemption. The promise of a life, waiting to be lived; more than just rote survival. There were joys both fleeting and large to be felt, sorrows and disappointments that would sting the heart, moments of quiet, moments of chaos. All of it beautiful and precious, messy and bitter, and yet still as sweet as summer-ripe berries on the tongue.

And Jack wanted all of it, every last bit, the good and the bad and everything in between. He was done with scraps, finished with carving up pieces of himself and hollowing them out until only an empty shell remained. He wanted to fill his life up with _life_ , and revel in the chaos until he was drunk on it. Until he breathed his last, and died, hopefully with far fewer regrets.

And he wanted to do it at David's side, under the shelter of David's smile, and in the surety of David's faith in him. 

"Before we...just in case, I want you to know. I do love you." The words, once so jealously hoarded, spilled out of him, easy and without hesitation. A truth he knew deep in the marrow of his bones. "As brother and king and more, if you'll have me."

"I know," David said, his look radiant. Light poured from him in a luminous cascade, blinding and so beautiful it was beyond Jack's ability to describe. "You have to know I love you the same way. In life and in death and beyond, I will love you. As my prince and my friend, and _zivog_." 

Then David kissed him again, soft and sweet, and offered a small, intimate smile. "Vows of love exchanged before God..." he muttered, laughing to himself, and looked up. The clouds parted and the moon appeared through the trees, outshining the stars, turning the clearing into a shimmering haven of silver. 

And fluttering around them were a dozen orange and yellow monarch butterflies, their small wings barely stirring the air.

Jack held out a tremulous finger. A butterfly floated over to him, but hovered just out of reach. His heart lurched, then fell. So that was it, then. Still, God would not extend His mercy Jack's way. He sighed – he should have known better than to hope – and started to lower his hand, but stopped when David caught it in his own.

"Don't move," David whispered, scarcely an exhale.

They held their position, and under Jack's incredulous gaze, the butterfly landed right at the point where his finger and David's met. Jack sucked in a shocked breath, and it was like inhaling pure sunlight. God's Grace flowed through him, infinite, gentle, a balm that soothed even his most jagged of edges, cleansed even his black, hollowed-out soul.

 _I am with you_ , the wind whispered. _I have always been with you. I will always be with you._

He met David's gaze over their joined fingers, and saw that same grace, that same benediction reflected in blue eyes. And he knew, without doubt or shame, that he was finally home where he belonged.

***

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to [Boop](http://boopifer.tumblr.com) and [Steph](http://stephrc79.tumblr.com) for the betas and words of advice. All remaining mistakes are on me.
> 
> You can now find me on [Tumblr](http://brendaonao3.tumblr.com)! :)


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